


Cold at Spark

by entangledwood (Eryn)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Elemental Magic, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/entangledwood
Summary: Optimus Prime meets an Earth spirit who offers to relieve him of the pain that comes with fighting Megatron. Only to loose more than he bargained for.Now it’s up to his officers to figure out just who has been messing with their Prime’s memory banks. Because it sure doesn’t look like the Cons did it.





	1. Tell me, Optimus Prime, what do you weep for?

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity Soup brought to you by Transformers Prime, Bay movies, and a whole lot of Fanfiction across all the continuities.  
> Mostly it's TFP with an expanded cast courtesy of everything else.
> 
> Inspired by the Subway to Sally song 'Kaltes Herz' (lyrics translation: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/kaltes-herz-cold-heart.html-0)

Someone was crying at her shore. Savannah could hear them. No wet gasping breaths or hot tears. Just the soft sound of a heart breaking, ringing out over the water’s surface, calling to her.

Whoever it was, they came every day, in the last twilight of the evening, to sit on one of the boulders that overlooked the pitiful remnant of her once magnificent sea, a broad expanse of water that had stretched from the east to the west as far as the eye could see. These days a dedicated swimmer would have crossed it in an hour or two - if she’d let them, instead of taking them for offerings that weren’t given any more. But _they_ didn’t come to swim in her waters, or drink from her shores. They came only with sorrow in their heart, day after day after day. And today the year was up. And they likely didn’t even know what it meant, to sit at her shore every day for an entire year and one day more. But she knew. And she was bored. So bored from centuries with nothing but the shrinking lake for company. So when the last light of the sun vanished behind the horizont Savannah pushed off the rocky ground and quickly rose through the water. In seconds she crossed what would have taken humans hours and broke through the surface of the lake with a splash.

Savannah wasn’t sure who was more surprised - her, or the giant metal contraption sitting on her doorstep. It didn’t matter. Sure, metal was a first, and from the way the sorrow rang she’d expected a human. But it wasn’t like she was limited in her power or who she could aid. A hare that mourned would be given aid just like the wolf would. And this hulking tower of red and blue and white would be no different. Savannah braced herself and walked towards her guest. It had been centuries since she’d last felt the moonlight on her mottled gray skin, felt her wet green hair heavy on her shoulders, and she relished it. She picked her way through the rocky shore until she stood in front of them. Or rather, him, Savannah concluded as the mountain shifted and revealed a form much like a human man.

“Welcome, stranger,” she said and trusted her powers to make herself understood. It seemed to work, even if the circles of blue light that were her guest’s eyes widened comically. “I am Savannah, born of rock, touched by moonlight. Tell me, what ails you?”

Her guest’s eyes were glued to her face, to white lips and black eyes. 

“H-how do you speak Cybertronian?” he asked in a deep voice that settled pleasantly into Savannah’s head, bringing with it a wealth of information she hadn’t expected. Information like his name. Curious, very curious.

“I speak and my power allows you to understand, Optimus Prime. Now tell me, what ails you, that you come to my waters every night?”

He hesitated, but Savannah didn’t remark upon it. Instead she crossed the remaining distance and climbed onto his foot and up onto his knee where she settled much like he was settled on the rock, with knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. He was warm to the touch. Not much more than the air around, but it was still a pleasant warmth, much like her home at the bottom of the lake, warmed by the living rock that laid beneath.  
“Tell me,” she urged him, “Optimus Prime. What makes your heart break? What do you weep for?” And with the third urging her magic finally took hold enough to compel him to speak.

“There is a war,” he started, but Savannah shook her head.

“There is always war. War does not break a heart like this,” she told him.

“There is a war and my friends are dying for it,” he argued. Savannah shook her head again.

“That might be true. But it’s not what you weep for,” she told him softly. “I hear you. Every night you come to my shore and sit in solitude and weep with all your heart. I can help you, if I know what it is that ails you.”  
Savannah could feel the sorrow welling up beneath her feet, stronger now that her power had taken hold, a tidal wave of pain and regret that would break upon the shores of his heart any second now.

“I am at war with my brother,” Optimus finally wailed. Brother, friend, lover, comrade, his speech rolled all these things into one and Savannah understood with sudden clarity the multitudes that were contained in _war_ as well. Quarreling, arguing, petty arguments, a rift open between hearts that fighting had widened to a chasm that seemed unbridgeable now. Her own heart swelled with her own sorrow, echoing his, and she let it leak into her voice when she spoke again.

“I understand,” she said softly. “you are at odds with one you once loved, and you know you should let your affection go, but it has taken root so deeply that you cannot forget the warmth of him, the pleasure of his company. It stays your hand and trips you and every time you do he punishes you for it with pain visited upon you and yours. But I can help you, if you wish. I can take the pain from you, hold onto it in my realm so you will not have to feel it,” she crooned, one hand running hin soothing circles over his plating. “All you have to do is say _yes_ and I can end this pain for you. Say _yes_ and I promise he will not hurt you any more Optimus.”

He looked at her with wide optics, fear and hope mingling in his gaze.  
“Yes,” he said, and it contained please and desperation and eagerness.

Savannah smiled a smile full of sharp teeth and rose to her feet. Light as a feather she walked up his arm until she stood in front of his helm. “As you wish, Optimus Prime,” she breathed onto his shining plate forehead before she kissed it. 

A single inhale was all she needed to draw it from him. The love for his brother, his pain and compassion. All the things that had stayed his hand now filled her mouth. He was trembling, they always trembled so sweetly when she did this. And then, when the final threads of it slid into her mouth he fainted. Lithe as a cat she jumped off his frame and then spat the coagulated mess of feelings into her hands. A mess of gray and purple streaked with red, with no discernible form, that had filled her mouth with the coppery taste of blood and a faint tingle of something that marked him as not from this world. 

Savannah smiled down at it and carried it back into the water with her. She would find a shell on her way down to keep it in. Or maybe a coral. No, the husk of a starfish. Its little limbs curled up to form a cage for the mess of feelings she still held in her hands. A prison to contain them until Optimus died and she could feast upon them. Her toes curled in anticipation of the pleasure it would bring her. But first she had a starfish to find.


	2. Shoot to kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream was dead because after 8 million years Optimus Prime finally started shooting to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one and only character death of this story

Starscream was dead. And not by Decepticon hands.

Megatron looked down at the empty chassis laying on the medberth, a gaping hole where the spark chamber should be.

No, Starscream was dead because after 8 million years of war, when both factions had finally been ground down to those who didn’t believe the lie of the Golden Age, or were at least pragmatic enough not to cling to it, when Megatron was finally left with a group of Autobots worth parlaying with, Optimus Prime started shooting to kill. 

The Decepticons had even been retreating, falling back after a minor raid that the teams had spend taking potshots at each other, more to keep each other at bay than to really hurt. But instead of allowing them to leave with a few parting shots that weren’t actually meant to find their targets, Optimus had stood, and aimed, and fired a shot that would have taken Megatron out if Starscream hadn’t intervened. The Seeker had dropped back in a feat of aerial maneuverability that showcased why he was Megatron’s Air Commander before all others. And now he was dead.

Megatron grit his teeth and clenched his fist and ignored Knock Out’s nervous chattering. There was nothing the medic could do, as much as Megatron wanted him to. With a final glare at the frame he whirled and stalked from the medbay.

“Soundwave, report,” he snarled and was gratified that the purple mech was immediately at his side, just like he should be.

“Decepticons: disturbed. Cassettes: dispatched to Autobot base,” Soundwave intoned, a soothing cadence on Megatron’s audials. One thing was still the way it should be. And Megatron would make the Autobots regret removing the other.

***

Optimus had killed Starscream. Ratchet was sure of it. And looking around at the other officers seated around the table they knew it, too. They didn’t need tactical analysis to judge the angle of the shot, or the power behind it. They had seen enough sparks join the well that they recognized it even from a distance. Ratchet was fairly sure he wasn’t the only one whose systems were slowly sliding into shock, wasn’t the only one whose processor seemed unable to integrate this new information. His HUD kept throwing up error messages, questioning his reality matrix, reporting failure to integrate data into existing subsystems. And Ratchet could do nothing but acknowledge and reiterate that the data was, in fact, not corrupted. No matter how much he wished it.

It was Jazz who regained his senses first. His plating still shook as he walked to the door and locked it, but his SpecOps coding made sure he could function even under the most trying conditions, could integrate even the most horrifying data point and keep going. Which meant Ratchet could sit and quietly fail to keep his processor running smoothly while Jazz broke out the hidden stash of high grade they kept in the officers lounge they were hiding out in.

“So, that just happened,” Jazz said after he’d distributed the high grade and taken his seat again. “What a mess.”

“Yeah,” Prowl agreed faintly. His tactical suite was likely running through all the possible scenarios that spun off of this event. None of them had believed it would come to this. Last week they had sat in this very group and debated how to best organise peace talks.

“Sure,” Ironhide agreed. “What’re we gonna do about it?” Always the pragmatic. Or more likely he’d just pushed the errors to a tertiary log and he’d be in the medbay tomorrow for a forced defrag. Ratchet couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t blame him either. He wished his own system allowed him to do the same.

“What _can_ we do? It’s not like shoot to kill isn’t still the official policy,” Jazz returned. “I mean, we haven't been enforcing it for years now. But that doesn’t make it any less legal.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Prowl said slowly. His optics were dimmed and his cooling fans were running full tilt now. Whatever his tac suite was working on it took all the resources it could get, and was likely throwing up all kinds of data requests on their tacticians HUD. Requests which Prowl didn’t hesitate to voice. “Which means we need more intel. Both on what convinced Optimus that this was the correct course, and on what the Decepticons plan to do now.”

“On it,” Jazz said. “I can get in contact with Soundwave easy enough. And Ratchet can talk to Optimus, right?”

Ratchet stared at Jazz with widened optics. His processor was working its way to overclocking and an emergency reboot and Jazz wanted him to talk to Optimus? The mech who had thrown his entire reality matrix for a loop? The leader that had betrayed Ratchet’s trust in him without even noticing or caring? His trembling hands tightened on the cube of high grade Jazz had handed him earlier until the fragile container broke, splashing Energon down on his hands, the table, sliding down the edge and drip drip dripping onto his plates. Everyone was staring at him, optics wide as if this was in any way a disproportional reaction.

“O-kay,” Jazz drew out. “‘hide, you talk to Optimus. And doc, you get a good long defrag. Reconvene here tomorrow?”

“Sure thing,” Ironhide agreed and got to his feet. “Want me to walk you to your quarters, doc?” It wasn’t a question, evidenced by the way he hauled Ratchet to his feet. But it wasn’t like Ratchet had it in him to protest.

He barely had it in him to walk, leaning heavily on Ironhide as they staggered down deserted corridors. Everyone else was likely as shocked as he was. And with no advanced programming to help them process it. Ratchet shuddered and tried to force his unease down, to access the triage coding, to push Ironhide in the direction of the med bay instead of his berth.

“You okay, doc?” Ironhide asked, but he didn’t stop walking, pulling Ratchet along down the corridor.

Ratchet had to restart his vocalizer twice before it spat anything but static. “Medbay,” he ground out, “I...they...I need to be there.” His voice was faint, a statement meant to convince himself as much as Ironhide, who shook his head.

“You need to defrag,” Ironhide said firmly, a commander’s voice, military conviction wrapped in an order; a friend’s voice, worry overlaid with concern. And Ratchet didn’t have it in him to break with two friends in one day. And his processor latched onto it, pushing the triage routines down again beneath the self-preservation protocols that had kicked in somewhere between Starscream falling and them retreating to base. Once they reached his quarters he didn’t even have it in him to try to argue. Ratchet just let himself be pushed onto the berth, let Ironhide wipe his hands to remove the high grade residue that would gum up delicate gears, and when Ironhide told him to rest he did just that, sending off the command for a soft full system defrag and reboot before he could think about it. Hopefully by the time he came out of it the others would have a plan, because Ratchet sure didn’t.


	3. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cassetticons infiltrate the Autobot base. It doesn't quite go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is continuity soup, it's pick your own base here. This is inspired heavily by G1 fanfiction though, so the Ark might be closest.

The Autobase was quiet like a mausoleum. No walking, or driving, hell, Rumble couldn’t even hear talking from his post outside the communal rec room. The completely empty rec room. Slag. And after what happened to Screamer Rumble didn’t even dare look around the corner to check, could only strain his sensors to make sure there was really no one in there, for the first time since the base was built. Double slag.

Normally he wouldn’t really have cared about being seen. Frenzy and him came over plenty just to play catch me if you can with Eject and Rewind. It wasn’t like anything bad would happen. They’d run around the base for a few hours and then either Soundwave pinged them or one of the bots caught them. Fraggers. And then they went home -- or to the brig where they gave Prowl or whoever last month’s codes and waited for the boss to catch a ‘bot to exchange for them.

The brig, slag. Rumble opened their double encrypted back channel and pinged the others. “Anyone check the brig yet?” because there should be two Decepticons still there. Stormcloud and Windrider had been captured last decacycle. Normally they’d have used the last raid to catch Bumblebee or one of the other smaller loosers to exchange. Normally the boss would have sent one or two instead of all five of them to spy on the ‘bots. Normally they didn’t have to worry about fragging _Prime_ shooting them.

“I’ll go,” Ravage sent back immediately. “Stay out of sight.” he added. Slagging overprotective bossy aft. Just because he was the oldest didn’t mean he needed to remind Rumble of basic stealth protocols. He’d heard the boss. Don’t be seen, Rumble. Don’t get caught, Rumble. Things aren’t normal any more, Rumble.

Yeah, no slag, boss. Not that Rumble had said that out loud. He wasn’t an idiot. Sure, none of them had liked Screamer all that much. But seeing Optimus Prime shoot him out of the sky, even if it was only from within Soundwave’s chest compartment, was fragged. The fragger hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Not beside his being his normal annoyingness. There hadn’t been a real casualty in millions of years. And since they had landed on this mudball even the slagged to almost scrap metal incidents had gone down to accidents. Pits, Rumble had been happy to play tag with the Autoloosers. What a joke. Rumble ruthlessly shifted that particular trail of thought right down the priority queue, to be given processing time approximately never.

His sensor suite was done scanning the rec room and surrounding corridors. Absolutely empty. Neither ‘bot nor bolt to be found. Not even one of those freaky organics they liked to keep around. Rumble shuddered and turned to sneak past the open doorway. He’d hit the training room next.

***

Having his camouflage and stealth routines running inside their own base was not as unusual for Jazz as his friends thought. But normally it was because he was running a training exercise, not because he was hiding from Optimus. Because if he met him before they got a handle on the situation Jazz didn’t know what he would do. Maybe shoot _him_. Not fatally or anything. Just a graze. Maybe a through and through. But then Ratch would have to fix him and the doc was in no condition to deal with anything. So for now Jazz snuck through the empty corridors and did his best to keep all thoughts of Optimus out of frontal processing. It wouldn’t do to get himself distracted now.

It was only his superior sensor suite that kept Jazz from literally stumbling over one of the Cassetticons. The little guy, Rumble, was sneaking quieter than Jazz had ever seen him, his little stealth protocols running full steam. He hadn’t noticed Jazz yet. Perfect. A smile slid onto Jazz’s face as he turned to trail the cassette down the corridor. He shunted the ‘how to get in touch with Soundwave’ thread to a secondary processor and instead focused on mission: catch Rumble without raising attention.

They moved quietly down the corridor, Jazz always two steps behind Rumble so he could let his processors noodle on the problems at had without having to worry about stepping on the runt and giving himself away. It was obvious the little mech had some destination in mind. Soon enough sound of humming reached Jazz’ audials -- and Rumble’s too, given the way the little guy stopped for a second before continuing down the corridor. Jazz still added ‘scan entire base’ to the ops queue. The humming lead them straight to the training room. It wasn’t a human humming, either. Instead it was a distinctly Cybertronian sound, the rumble of a contend engine, a smooth running processor.

It took Jazz until they had reached the door to realize it was _Optimus_ in there. Optimus who was sounding happier than Jazz had _ever_ seen him. Jazz wasn’t sure what had gotten into their Prime’s processor, but he knew he didn’t like it.

He followed Rumble up to the doorway and stuck his head around the corner for a second. Optimus was deep in a training cycle, body moving with an amount of grace and sheer power that their Prime normally kept concealed. Especially in their own base. Below him Jazz felt Rumble tense, likely communicating with the other cassettes. Jup, definitely scanning the whole base.

Before the cassette could do anything Jazz reached down, one hand clamping over Rumble’s vocalizer while the other arm wrapped around the casette’s chest. In his hold Rumble froze and Jazz made sure to keep the little spy in his own stealth field as he hurried down the corridor and towards the exit.

Rumble knew better than to struggle, though he did furiously ping the others while his captor carried him towards the entrance. He had no idea which of the glitches caught him, but by the strength of the field pressing down on him he’d say it was Jazz, frag. Rumble wasn’t as familiar with the base as Laserbeak, but he knew enough to keep the others apprised of his position. So when they finally reached the outside the others were waiting. He dropped his stealth code and began struggling out of the SpecOps’ grip. Surprisingly the slag-head dropped him immediately.

“Relax,” Jazz said and dropped his own stealth mods. “I just wanna talk.”

Rumble just glared at the fragger and hid behind Ravage. Frenzy smacked his shoulder and the brief contact eased him already. ::What the hell, Rumble,:: Frenzy teased. Rumble just jostled him and settled into his position. Like pits was he taking his processor off of Jazz until they were done.

“What do you want to talk about?” Ravage asked, feet flexing against the ground, gears shifting into the ready position. With all five of them present there was actually a real chance they could overpower Jazz. But the fragger didn’t look like he wanted to attack, he kept his hands were away from his body and had no weapons out. Rumble still glared at him and followed Ravage’s lead in getting ready.

“We need a status update for the Nemesis,” Jazz said bluntly. “We aren’t sure what got into Optimus yet…”

Rumble just glared at him harder. ::Like slag they don’t know:: he commed Frenzy, who send back immediate agreement.

“And why should we provide such information,” Ravage asked.

“Uhm, because you want the war to end same as we do?” Jazz offered.

“We don’t,” Frenzy cut in and completely ignored Buzzsaw hissing at him over the comms. Rumble got his back though and stepped on Buzz’ foot in retaliation. “We don’t want the slag kind of peace you Bot’s fight for. We want the real one.”

In front of him Rumble heard Ravage’s gears grind is exasperation. Which, totally unfair when Frenzy was saying what all five of them agreed on. But Jazz didn’t seem to mind. He just raised his hands placatingly.

“Fine, fine. You still want peace though, shape to be decided. And if you can’t see that whatever’s gotten into Optimus is putting that clean off the table again you’re dumber than you look.”

“Frag off,” Frenzy shouted and now Rumble had to jump _him_ so he couldn’t throw himself at the pit-spawned aft-head. 

“Yeah, frag off. You’re the one who’s dumb as rocks,” Rumble added and not even the frantic ping from Laserbeak kept him from it.

“Whatever,” Jazz waved them off. Fragger. “Will Soundwave talk to me or not?”

Rumble was all ready to say he would never. Unfortunately Laserbeak was faster.  
“He will contact you soon,” the traitor said. Likely because he’d been relaying the entire thing back to the boss from the background.

“Much obliged,” Jazz grinned. “Now off you go before someone else catches on that you’re here, huh?”

Like slag they were going. Not just like that. Only, apparently they were. ::Casettes: Return now:: Laserbeak replayed over their communal line, complete with timestamp from two seconds ago and ‘or else’ connotation. And after getting himself caught by fragging Jazz already Rumble had no intention of messing up again. So he limited himself to a few rude gestures thrown at the saboteur. He could always pay him back next time.

***

Ironhide found Optimus in the maintenance bay, fiddling with his blaster controls and actually humming one of the old Cybertronian tunes that hadn’t been popular for centuries. It was obscene. But the sight of Optimus actually happy for once still almost made Ironhide turn back around. But Ironhide knew his job, and it didn’t care about his comfort. So instead of turning around and leaving his Prime to his small pleasure Ironhide forced himself to cross the maintenance bay, drop down next to Optimus and pull out his own maintenance kit.

Prime smiled at him, a full frame motion that invited Ironhide to just let it go, just accept what Optimus had done and move on. Unfortunately it wasn’t like Ironhide could do that.

“You seem pleased,” Ironhide remarked evenly.

“Hmm yes,” Prime hummed. “Today was a good day.”

“Was it?” Ironhide asked. He couldn’t help but watch his Prime, who seemed so carefree all of a sudden. He should keep up the facade, focus on the kit in his hand, focus on his own work, but it was difficult. So instead he sat and simply devoted his optical processor to log every motion that Optimus made. Maybe a later analysis would give them a hint of what was actually going on here.

“Of course it was. Wouldn’t you agree?” Optimus sounded confused now.

“It was a productive day, yes,” Ironhide agreed. “Not sure I’d call it good though.”

“But why not?” Optimus frowned. “Surely you are not displeased by our victory?”

“Nah, just wondering. Why did you shoot down Starscream after they were already fleeing?”

Now Optimus, too, put down his canon and turned his full attention to Ironhide. His earlier good mood was pushed back, but it was still there, hinting at the edges of Optimus’ plating, making Ironhide’s own crawl. “My aim was to take down Megatron. And if Starscream had not intervened I would have succeeded.”

“Still doesn’t seem like you to shoot a mech in the back,” Ironhide said carefully. “‘specially not Megatron.”

“Maybe,” Optimus agreed. “But I find myself with new convictions of late. This raid just proved again that the Decepticons cannot be reasoned with.”

“And what convictions are they?” Ironhide pressed, sure that he had found the source of their commander’s strange behavior.

“That it is my duty to end this war. And that it is time to end it,” Optimus said gravely. “I have let my own feelings interfere for too long. They have stayed my hand and kept me from taking the action needed to end the threat of the Decepticons once and for all. I will not allow such misguided emotions to prevent me from doing what needs to be done any more.”

“And what is that?” Ironhide asked. He didn’t really want to know. But he would need to hear his, if only so he could tell Ratchet just what kind of virus they were looking at that made Optimus sound more like a Decepticon than himself.

“I will have to kill Megatron,” Optimus said gravely. “There is no other way to subdue the Decepticons that a display of strength they cannot ignore.”

The worst part was, Prime wasn’t even wrong. Only they were no longer trying to subdue their enemies. Both forces were tired of war, weary of battle, ready to try for a peace that would allow them to move forward. Slag, even Ironhide had been considering less forceful solutions lately. Not peace, not yet, but maybe less fighting.

“And yet, killing has not been our goal for many cycles now,” Ironhide reminded his commander.

“Maybe we have become foolish in our exile,” Prime returned solemnly.

“Maybe we have,” Ironhide forced himself to agree and then fell silent. Luckily Prime granted him his reprieve. Ironhide slowly turned his focus to the maintenance of his guns, unwilling to flee and arouse suspicion. A few more moments of tense silence passed between them until Prime, too, turned back to his blaster, engine once again rumbling pleasantly.

***

“Status report,” Megatron growled and Soundwave didn’t need to ask for clarification on which status his Lord was referring to. With Starscream gone there was only one mech who could enrage him like this.

“Prime: still on base,” Soundwave said. “Autobots: disturbed.”

“Don’t tell me they aren’t glad to see Starscream gone.” Lord Megatron’s fist clenched. Soundwave quickly sent a backup script to the consoles in reach so no data would be lost when the inevitable happened.

“Autobots: disquieted by Prime’s actions; afraid of increased hostility.”

“As they should be.” A harsh smile played around Megatron’s lips. “And you are sure that Prime has not left the base?”

“Affirmative. Last known excursion: 15 planetary cycles ago.” It had been the reason for their latest raid. Any change in the Autobots’ routine caused unease among the Decepticon army. Especially when it pertained to the command squad. Better to draw them out and deal with whatever new invention they had come up with, then allow them to pick the battlefield. This had been the first time the tactic hadn’t played out as expected.

“Very well. Send Laserbeak and Ravage to investigate the Primes usual route. Something happened out there and we need to figure out what. And how to reverse it.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron,” Soundwave intoned and ignored the sound of a console finding its violent end. The backups had finished 28 astroseconds ago. Soundwave just hoped this contact with the Autobot spy found its intended conclusion as well.


End file.
